


Vhenadahl

by Ayleid



Series: Tall Tales From Unknown Soldiers [1]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Coruscant, Friendship, Gen, Hospitals, Investigations, Medical HQ, minor character injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 13:42:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12255519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayleid/pseuds/Ayleid
Summary: In the core of the Republic volunteer surgeon Naimo Vhenadahl faces the indifference and ignorance of her higher-ups while soldiers' lives are at stake. While she struggles to gain the attention of the officials to the patterns of stabbing attacks against the soldiers, Lieutenant Galle of the 327th Star Corps pays her a friendly visit.





	Vhenadahl

Her hands were still trembling from built-up tension when she closed the door behind herself and released a frustrated sigh. The never ending Coruscant traffic outside the office windows cast repeating shadows on the walls while the Pantoran took her white robes off and cast them aside on the back of a chair.

What a day. 

What a day, her hollow whisper echoed in the empty examination room. 

This had never happened before, her own dedication or calling questioned by a colleague. Even the thought ran with well-controlled anger in her veins since today, for the first time in her life, Vhenadahl needed to take a moment and consider the whole debate. The other surgeon’s words remained a cacophonous ringing in her ears which soon set her temper aflame again. 

Their conflict sparked in the early afternoon when a soldier was stabbed on the streets and was brought in the Coruscant Medical HQ for immediate help. He was heavily bleeding but held his composure as best he could, even if his eyes betrayed the immeasurable pain inside his body.

Vhenadahl was called to help him, and while she had seen enough stab wounds for a lifetime in the Coruscant Guard’s medical facilities, this one was different and the memory would remain with her. The vibroblade was tipped into poison and the soldier knew it. He felt the burning in his veins, his consciousness slipping as he tried to breath and stay awake while his brothers and the volunteer doctor fought for his life. 

It was not often that Vhenadahl lost patients. In her profession, racing with time and death to save patients was an everyday routine, but this one… the pure evil and cruelty lingering in the poisoned wound put everything she presumed into a whole new perspective.

The soldier could barely speak when they brought him in, and despite his excellent condition from before the wound, his body quickly began to fail him. His name was Jammer. 

The medics by her side were all his brothers. They were with him through the struggle against death till the end of all procedures and their dedication remained a bitter, hurtful ache in the surgeon’s heart. For now, there was nothing else they could do just wait. 

Wait until the antidotes and medicines would do the work and remain hopeful in the meantime. Pass the time with paperwork, permissions for future procedures and manually clean the equipment instead of letting the droids take care of them.  _ Patience does it now _ , she told herself for the hundredth time. Her gaze jumped from the floor at the clock as she realized, she spaced out again.

This was the third stabbing attack this week, all victims being  _ clone  _ soldiers. Today, the first poisoned dagger. Sighing, Vhenadahl shook her head as she untied the knot on the nape of her neck and re-arranged her ash-blond hair up in a tight bun again. For some officials, the poisoned dagger was just a minor detail and they didn’t listen when Vhenadahl said, there must be a pattern in these attacks. They were getting more serious, and it was the soldiers who were out there, putting their lives on the line.

Even here in the Coruscant medical headquarters for the Guard, many  _ birth born  _ officials had little to no respect for these men. It did not matter to them that from the entire legion of guards, only the ones from Kamino were attacked, the  _ birth born _ guards and officers were left alone from a very obvious reason. Droids too. 

Perhaps her personal experience with the soldiers was indeed clouding her judgement, like the officer said. During her work, she befriended many troopers from Kamino and even started to use their slang in some situations, sympathized with their dedication and profoundly appreciated their humor. The troopers were most polite, kind and grateful in return even if she did not ask for presents or any sort of compensation. They deserved it. 

She could not fathom why someone would hate a trooper from Kamino, especially if they had never spoken with one? Even as an outsider, how could someone possess so much evil and hatred against people that they would go so far to put every blame on their mere existence?

True enough, the war was becoming way too expensive for the Republic… she could not argue with that. The expenses were grazing the sky’s limits while the sanctions plummeted many people’s living standards even deeper. At the start of the conflict, many were deported from the surface districts which now housed the army’s barracks, headquarters and other facilities. The Chancellor gave no alternative to the citizens than to accept and accommodate the soldiers, move away from their homes and watch entire levels being destroyed only to host the army’s new buildings soon after. 

Involuntarily she raised her palm to hide her lips behind it and suppress a yawn of exhaustion. 

Despite the repeated attacks, the lieutenant who was responsible for the soldier remained calm, even if his eyes told Vhenadahl about the terrible hurt he had to carry from now on. Another of their numbers was attacked by a civilian, another friend, comrade in arms, brother. They were simply doing their duty. Lieutenant Dent could only stay strong for the other soldiers and medics and anchor them in the present with his own professional yet empathetic ways. He used his oral report to Vhenadahl as a reminder to everyone present that they were only doing their duty. They must protect the citizens even if they didn’t ask for it, even if they don’t want their protection. Jammer did his duty when he refused to hurt the citizen seriously, just disarmed him despite his own injury.

His unshakeable, rock-solid dedication resonated with Vhenadahl’s own… and at the same time, infuriated her.

The citizens knew so little about the soldiers. They only saw them as tools, means to an end. Any conversation she had in the past with any Kaminoan or… the most recent example, a delegate from the same group she was sent with, proved this. Of course there were exceptions but they made little difference in the grand scheme of things.

Straden’s attitude and his cutting words made the surgeon grimace with repulsion. To think that someone so coldhearted was allowed to accompany the Pantoran delegation of volunteer doctors sickened the young woman, and yet there was nothing she could do to get rid of him. The contracts were signed and even if Straden’s attitude was severely flawed from a medical professional’s point of view, there was only hoping that anyone would listen to Vhenadahl’s reasoning.

The soldiers were people. They deserved the appropriate treatment with the same respect for their dignity like anyone else. When did it ever become routine to do otherwise?!

_ You’re too emotional about this, Vhenadahl. They are soldiers, they know the risks. If they die, well, in war people die. _

The words had her on her feet again and she paced to her desk to check her schedule for tomorrow even if she knew it by heart. Such disregard for… lives. Lives of people who put their own out on the line so that others won’t have to. In war, people die but why does it have to be senseless? It doesn’t have to be senseless, from the ignorance of the very people they were supposed to protect. In war people die on the battlefield, fighting against the enemy forces but they were not supposed to die from the neglect of their own people… if they couldn’t protect the soldiers in the core of the Republic which was free from invasion, how could they guarantee any kind of treatment or safety for the injured out on the front lines? How could the soldiers trust them, if the medical facilities in the very core of the Republic failed to provide them the proper dignity and dedication in their treatment? This was all wrong, her mind added to the train of thought. How could it come to this? 

Even on the battlefield, there is always a choice to be made, either by the soldiers or their superiors. In the medical bay, decisions were left to be made by the medics, the army’s own medics and the licensed civilian volunteers like her kind and in critical cases, the Kaminoans intervened took the patients from the volunteers’ care.

Memories echoed among her thoughts when the soldiers would rather show unbelievable restraint not to show pain, just to avoid getting into the hands of Kaminoans. They tried their hardest not to become-- she grimaced at the word;  _ problematic. Troublesome _ , one Kaminoan doctor remarked when a soldier was brought in with heavily progressed infections on his feet since he didn’t report a bruise weeks ago. He didn’t want to be a burden, he thought it will get better by itself. 

How was an injured soldier problematic, if they were simply doing their duty, and the duty of medics in the army is to take care of injured soldiers!? How is this entire circus any better than a hypocritical, treacherous charade the Separatists would envy for its neglect of basic rights! Naimo Vhenadahl wanted to yell at something, someone, anything just to receive answers.

And after such a terrible day like today, one of her colleagues had the audacity to voice every concern she already felt about the system.

Her brows furrowed in barely containable anger.

_ The clones were made for this, Vhenadahl, ask any of them and they will tell you the same. _

They will give their lives for the Republic, she knew this. They oathed to do so. They were raised up to do so but that did not mean they deserved the treatment they got. Not to mention, the  _ clones  _ were the most polite, well-mannered and most trustworthy people she had ever met. They were much more than numbers to be thrown at the enemy. Their sense of duty, loyalty and perseverance was admirable. Even in the medbay or just relieved from the bacta procedures, their first question was always: when will they be up for active duty again? 

Her small hands tightened into a fist.

They did not deserve this. 

This was the third stabbing attack in one week, and this one was committed with a poisoned weapon. 

The soldiers deserved the same commitment and respect from the birth born officers and… whoever serving the Republic, like the dedication they served with. 

Her eyes ablaze from righteous anger, Vhenadahl couldn’t help but slam her hand onto the table. To hell with all of this. She didn’t become head of the delegation for this doshing joke mistaken for medical treatments!

Didn’t anyone have eyes around her?

Someone had to do something. Someone had to stand up and yell loud enough. 

The soldiers couldn’t, they had no power to do so. Legal power that is, Vhenadahl added.

Her ears barely registered the knock on her door but in the end she simply gave a defeated sigh and ran her hands down her face before saying, “come in!”

As the door opened, an officer stepped in with his helmet under his left arm and a wrapped box in his right hand’s hold. From the colour of his armor and the familiar patterns of tattoos paired with the warm look in his eyes, she quickly recognised the soldier so in the same instant her anger vanished. In the place of the burdened frown she wore before, a fond and happy smile appeared on her lips.

“Galle!” 

“Miss Naimo,” the man greeted her back and reached back to close the door behind himself while the doctor took her robe from the only chair in the room in case her friend would like to sit. 

“Galle, where have you been? How have you been? I haven’t seen you for months! Please, take a seat!”

He held a hand up at his chest but his smile ruined the attempt to remain professional, “ah, first I have to apologise for the unscheduled visit, doctor.”

“Come on, I’m so happy to see you!” 

“I’m… me too,” he smiled again and looked down at the package in his hand. It took a moment or two that he collected his thoughts but in the end, he accepted the seat. The kama and blasters on his hips shifted with his moves to the side and he placed his helmet on the desk beside Naimo’s possessions. When he placed the package on his knees, Naimo raised her eyebrows in curiosity but he held up an index finger. Patience. “I’m happy to see you too. We just returned from the Outer Rim. I knew you’d still be here, you’re the type to do overtime on a Zhellday.”

“Well…” she jumped on the examination table to sit on it and turned back to face him. “We had an awful day today, and I don’t mean that because I needed to stay longer.”

“I’m sorry,” Galle offered with a small tilt of his head, his eyes searching hers for more. “Is there a way I could help?”

At her small shake of her head, he cast his eyes at the floor.

“This was the third stabbing attack in a week, Galle, and this one was done with poison. It was Jammer from the Guard. We did everything we could, he was in the IC op-rooms for almost five hours. He is still on intensive care and we’re not sure… well, I stayed and I’m still here in case...” she cut her own words and pursed her lips tight. Lacing her fingers together, the Pantoran let herself calm a bit before speaking again. “Lieutenant Dent can tell you everything.”

For several moments he was quiet and Vhenadahl patiently waited for his turn to say something, once he was ready. His fingers tightened around the package he held, and finally he returned his gaze on her.

“I’ll see if I can interest some higher-ups in this. There is a pattern, then.”

“Yes. Vibroblade daggers, and although they happen in different districts, they never occur on the surface levels. Altogether there have been around fifteen.”

“I see… we have been gone a long time, then.” He hummed and used his left hand to wipe something around his nose. “It’s not my battalion but if Dent needs help, we need to do something.”

“Yes,” she nodded with him. “I want to help too, Galle. No one is doing anything, so we will have to.”

Her statement caused a sincere smile on his stern features, in the dark chestnut of his eyes. “I know, miss. I know. I’m glad you’re still around.”

This warmed her heart better than any other compliment that month. Indeed, The 327th Star Corps was gone for four months and she missed Galle and the troops she knew from those battalions. 

“Well,” the soldier began again and he even leant forward a bit to place his elbows on his knees. “I mean it. While we were away, some of us came up with the idea to give you something back for all that you’re doing.”

His words perplexed and touched the young Pantoran.

“Galle, thank you. You know it’s my job to help…” 

By raising his index finger in the air in front of him again and closing his eyes to emphasise his point, the soldier made a few clicks with his tongue.

“A-ah, miss. It’s my turn to talk now.”

“Oh. Okay,” she made the gesture to zip her mouth and even pursed her lips despite the happy, genuinely loving smile she had there. The gleeful shine in her eyes wrapped Galle in warmth he hadn’t felt in four months and his free thumb glossed over the package on his knees. She knew it was a gift and she already knew they made it with their own hands. 

She was proud of them, it radiated off her like a glow and the way she expectantly sat on the examination table made him release a small chuckle.

“So, we made you a small gift to remember us by. Whenever we are deployed somewhere, we cannot guarantee that you’ll see us again so this is…” he hummed in contemplation as his eyes remained fixed on the package for a few moments. “Consider this like a… collection of memories for you… to remember us.”

When their eyes met again, he couldn’t hold her gaze for long. 

“The reason why I’m bringing this alone is that… some of the boys you’ve treated, who are in the book, they…” his words stuck on his throat and just from the way he had to swallow the heavy stone in his rib cage and sigh, her glee began to dissipate as well. “They didn’t make it back. But they are all here.”

The Pantoran’s amber eyes reflected the sorrow and nostalgic gratefulness with which she nodded a few times and murmured her appreciation in the air between them. Galle couldn’t help letting the silence sit between them for some time, even if the saudade gripped his heart and didn’t allow him to say anything else than what he knew his fallen brothers would want him to.

“We made this for you to know that we are grateful. Not many birthborn officers or doctors care about what happens to us after we leave the medbay, and you are one of the handful of those who actually, genuinely care about us. My boys are grateful to you, and me too. We made this because… we want you to know that. You know us by our names, not our numbers. And that is… for a volunteer doctor that is… very kind of you.”

He didn’t understand why she looked taken aback by his last statement, why she suddenly looked smaller and… sad. With a tilt of his head to the side, he reached up with his free hand and she accepted the comforting gesture by wrapping his hand in her owns. 

“Naimo…” the words were threatening to slip on his tongue, but he couldn’t allow them to spill. She made them feel safe. She made them feel valued. Even the ones returning from nightmares in the small hours of the night whenever she was on night-shift, or the ones returning from the horrors of a lost battle. She made them truly believe that in her medbay they were safe. By her side, they were safe.

“Thank you, Galle. I appreciate it. Thank you.”

“We know you’re doing everything you can for us, and there isn’t much we can do for you in return.”

“That’s not true, Galle…”

“Listen to me, Naimo.”

She did. Her eyes focused on his gaze and she remained quiet.

“Just take it.” he raised the book into her lap and her fingers wrapped around the gift right away. “When you have some time, look at it. You know very well that we are not easily impressed by civilians who interfere with war efforts. So please, look at it. We are all in it, everyone from the battalions from our forces, everyone who wanted to send you something. We made pictures and some of us drew and wrote you things. Some things even I wasn’t allowed to look at, they are only for you. It took months to make it. I am quite sure there are dried leaves in it from Fellucia and shells from Rodia.”

“Thank you, Galle. This… I can’t even imagine how you had time to... Thank you. Tell this to everyone, please. I’m very happy and I love it, please tell them,” she asked in the smallest voice he’d ever hear her speak. Her fingers caressed the package with cherish and care which warmed the soldier’s heart once more. “I will keep this forever. Thank you. Tell them.”

“I will.”

“I don’t even know what to say, Galle…” she sniffed and raised a hand to wipe at her eyes as her emotions broke through the professional mask she wore all day. Especially after today’s trials, her eyes welled with emotions and she reached down to wrap his hand into her hold again. “Thank you. I love it.”

“You didn’t even open it yet,” he commented with a suggestive yet flat voice before a smile broke through. 

“I will, I will! Alright! It will be the first thing when I get home tonight.”

The tender, cherishing glint in his eyes grounded her heart in the present,  _ it’s okay.  _ He understood. If she wished to open her gift in the comforting solitude of her flat, he understood why. 

When he stood and took his helmet from the table, she stood as well and hid the wrapped present into her backpack. For a moment their gazes met again in a silent agreement, and he let a reassuring half-smile slip through his the hardening, more professional guise they both were trying to return to. 

“I will go to Dent,” he told her with a final look at the caring, genuine amber eyes of the Pantoran. “Let’s see what we can come up with-- even if Bly is arguing with General Secura all day every day nowadays, someone else might take the cases. Perhaps Stone. Or Fi. They are returning from another peacekeeping mission.”

“I’d be glad to provide all help I can,” she stated again and wrapped her arms around herself as if she was cold while her gaze sank to the floor and Galle almost turned to check the thermostat when he remembered. She was Pantoran. It was almost impossible for a Pantoran to be cold in a warm office on Coruscant. His gaze softened at her display of exhaustion so when she jumped off the examination table, he extended a hand for hers to catch onto and regain her balance. “I’ll go back, see how Jammer is doing.”

His simple nod was all the reply she got this time and the soldier placed the helmet on his head. With that, Lieutenant Galle looked back at her, ready to leave her office and do what his duty demanded of him. 

“Take care of yourself, miss Naimo.”

“You too, Galle. Stay safe.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends! Thank you for reading :) I hope this will be a decent introduction for Naimo, and let me just say that hold your horses, and don't think for a moment that this is going to be a cakewalk. :D For the Finish-the-clone-wars.tumblr's perspective challenge for Writing Wednesday! Leave comment if you liked it, it helps the writing process immeasurably. <3


End file.
